


All the roads we have to walk are winding

by SuckItStrider



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love, but like light angst, gas stations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuckItStrider/pseuds/SuckItStrider
Summary: Christian was not a good man.He was not caring.Or loving.Or particularly empathetic.So when he saw Bart sprawled across the shitty hotel sofa and his heart gave a little pang, he didn’t know what to do.





	1. And all the lights that lead us there are blinding

Grumbling to himself, Christian shambled through the grungy hotel rooms, in search of the kitchen. It was nearly 3 am, and he had woken up with the lingering taste of cocaine in his mouth and soaked with sweat from another nightmare. 

Groping around blindly in the semi-dark, his hand finally landed on the doorknob, and stumbling through the doorway, he found himself in the front room. The television screen was still flickering, and his hostage had tucked himself into the fetal position, the shitty hotel couch being too small for much else without limbs dangling.

Doing his best to ignore the bright buzz of the tv, he shuffled his way to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water. He was in the middle of contemplatively sipping his drink, when he heard a soft snuffle in the direction of the sofa. 

Glancing back, he noticed that Bart had shifted his position, one much more comfortable, in his sleep. His long legs were sprawled over the edge of the armrest, and one of his arms was wrapped loosely around his head, hair mussed and glasses akimbo. His midriff was just barely visible, the shirt having been pushed up by his movement.  
Bart sighed in contentment, and Christian’s heart gave a painful twang. He nearly dropped his glass, and panic streaked through him.

Oh.

Oh no.

Not again. 

Fuck.

Shakily, Christian set his glass of water on the counter, and absconded from the hotel as fast as he could. 

He couldn't have another crush, not now, not ever. 

He’d gotten himself in enough trouble over petty infatuations, and this could quite possibly be the most dangerous position ever to get attached to anyone. To a hostage, no less. 

Christian was not a good man.

He was not caring.

Or loving.

Or particularly empathetic. 

He knew, for an absolute fact, he would be a shitty partner.

He did not want to drag anyone into the life he had willingly made for himself, unless he had every intention of killing them, silencing them, or any other method of using them for his own personal gains.

He needed to take a walk.


	2. There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how

Sprinting around in the middle of the night, especially as a known criminal, is not the best idea.

Christian was smart enough to slow down a block or so away from the hotel, but only enough to not be suspicious. Luckily for him, and unlucky for the law, he did not sleep in his priest robes. That being said, he was still on edge the entire duration of the walk. 

As he jogged, fragments skittered through his mind.

“why…”

“but he…”

“It can be okay…”

Growling, he pushed everything from his mind, and searched his surroundings. This was an area he didn't recognize, and he had turned himself around trying to find somewhere he remembered. 

God damnit, he was lost.

At 3 am.

A wanted criminal.

He could just leave without grabbing his stuff. He'd done it before, and he'd do it again. It would probably fix his current problem, really. 

But no, he had paid an arm and a leg for the 10 kilos of high quality coke back at the hotel, and he'd also have to leave Bart, who knew too much. Who knew what he would say? He had already nearly fucked their mission by almost saying he was a hostage on his stupid fucking art video. 

Wait, ‘their mission’? 

No, no, no and no. 

This was his mission, and his mission alone.

He didn't want to think about this anymore. He wanted to get back to the hotel, and lose himself to drugs.

He was still, however, lost off his ass.

Sighing, he consigned himself to another hour or so without his fix, and searched around for someone or something to help him get his bearings. And there, glowing on the corner of the street, was a gas station. 

Well, he could do no worse, he thought, and pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might look a little wonky because I'm posting this on mobile.  
> If so, I'm very sorry, but I probably won't fix it until later


	3. Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me

A little jangle announced his entrance, and the cashier look up long enough look up from their phone to acknowledge his presence, and nothing further.

Doing his best to ignore his asshole thoughts, he browsed the shelves for probably entirely too long, and finally picked out enough 5-hour energy to beat up God, a prepackaged ham sandwich, and a 3 Musketeers. Shuffling up to the cashier, they look at him weird.

Shit, did he still have that coke-moustache?

“Hey man, are you, like, okay? 1, you grabbed I think our entire supply of 5 hour energy, and 2, you’ve got...something going on up here,” to which the cashier then rubbed their upper lip at him.

Apparently he DID still have the coke-moustache. God damnit. He attempted to wipe it off, to which the cashier stuck their tongue out at.

“Dude, that helped, like, not at all.”

He grunted, dumped his armload of crap on the counter, and muttered “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

The cashier then began scanning. At the very least, he was the only other person in the store, so it wasn’t like he was holding anyone up. Not that he cared if he did.

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yeah, and don’t call me ‘sir”

“Alrighty, my guy. Is all of this just for you?”

He frowned at that. “Of course. Who else would I buy shit for?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure someone with such a sparkling personality has a catch at home?”

He prickled at ‘catch’, but decided it wasn’t something to get in a fight about.

Besides, he had left his gun back at the hotel. 

Instead of saying what he wanted to say, (‘fuck you and the phone you rode in on’,) he asked “How do you get to the Super 8?”

“Oooh, big spender are you? I heard they only had 5 cases of bedbugs this month!”

He shot the cashier a scathing look, and they laughed at him. God damn did he wish he had brought his gun.

\--------

After another good 5 minutes of bickering with the cashier, they finally told him the way back. He was only about a half hour walk away, which was good, but for the entirety of the 30 minutes he was stuck in a loop of thinking about what he was going to do about his petty infatuation. 

In the end, he was no closer to an answer, but he was back at the motel.  
Instinctually he eased open the door quietly, by no means to not wake Bart. Not at all.

As he crept back towards his bedroom, a soft shuffle alerted him that Bart was awake anyway.

Oh God damnit.

“Mmh, Christian? Did you by any chance go out-”

Christian spun on his heel to meet him, and Bart’s outstretched arm lightly brushed his. Bart quickly retracted his hand, though made no attempt to step backwards. He couldn’t really, he was already pressed against the back of the couch. 

They were too close.

Uncomfortably close.

Christian shoved the candy bar into Barts outstretched hand, and absconded back to his room.

\--------

Bart looked down at his hand, confused. 

In it was a 3 Musketeers.

His favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND AFTER AAAAAAAAAAAALL  
> YOU'RE MY WONDERWAAAAALL
> 
> shit, i can't believe i forgot to finish this for A MONTH  
> eh, live and learn i guess
> 
> next stop: probably that good good camp au IF I EVER LEARN HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to get in a fistfight with Cheese, Ben, and also Christian  
> I'm 5" and out of shape, so I'll probably lose  
> It's the thought that counts, though


End file.
